Having recovered from back surgery just over six months ago, it seemed inevitable that I seek out some sort of balance — a cosmic yin to my earth-bound yang, so to speak. So two and a half weeks ago, as I often do when I commute to work, I was listening to a podcast by plugging my trusty Sansa SanDisk MP3 player into the car stereo. As is my routine, once the podcast was complete, I disconnected the player from the stereo jack — which is precisely when things took a black comedic turn.
Normally I would put the player away in my backpack, but instead I dropped it — into that dreaded no-man’s land between my car’s driver’s seat and the center console. I knew enough not to dig for it while driving. What I didn’t count on was the ordeal it would be to locate and retrieve it once I was stationary. To do so, I lied down prone on the driver’s seat and fished under the seat. It took several minutes of moving the seat backward and forward and repeating my desperate rummaging to finally find it. In retrospect, it was a stupid amount of effort for a tiny piece of plastic.
For my efforts, I had injured myself badly enough to be in considerable discomfort. After a few days, I was in so much pain that it was obvious to my co-workers. I finally made a doctor’s appointment and got a chest x-ray. Thankfully, it wasn’t more than a bruise, both to my rib-cage and my ego.
To those who are wondering, it’s not my life’s aspiration to discover novel ways to hurt myself, but sometimes I feel like my life is one long episode of Jackass.